


Crazy little thing(s) called love

by manboobs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, see notes for specific tags to each story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manboobs/pseuds/manboobs
Summary: A collection of barely-fics that have been posted on Tumblr.Most of them are pre-slash, and very short. Prompts for each fic stolen off Inktober. :)





	1. Poisonous

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles POV, pre-slash, magic, super short

“Don’t touch that”, Deaton speaks up, cutting. Stiles yanks his hand away from the skeleton or amulet or kraken dong or whatever he was looking at. He turns his head toward the circle of light Deaton’s immersed in, meticulously measuring herbs. Deaton hasn’t even lifted his head. Asshole.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, unapologetic. Behind him, Scott squirms. He’s such a teacher’s pet, god.

“A bezoar”, Deaton answers lazily. “Argent brought it back from South America. For me to study.” He shrugs, falsely nonchalant. “Highly poisonous.” He fixes Stiles with a steady look, finally. “For a human of course.”

Stiles waits for Deaton’s eyes to be safely back on his herbs before he mimics him. “For a human of course.” 

Scott smacks him on the back of the head as discreetly as possible. In the darkest corner of the room, leaning on the wall, arms crossed like he’s Danny Zuko or something, Derek smirks at him. Oh no.


	2. Tranquil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, pre-slash, super short

His eyelashes are fluttering in the wind, long shadows casted on his cheeks by the trees surrounding them. Pouty mouth under a cupid’s bow, slack, fleshy lips. Derek has never seen this mouth immobile before.

The forest around them whispers to Derek, tales of a thousand creatures living here, under his foot. But Derek is deaf to their stories. The only thing that counts is the breath on Stiles’ lips, his brow smooth. So peaceful, tranquil in his sleep. He is _so beautiful_.

How has Derek never realized that?

His hand reaches out of its own accord, he lets it. He brushes the back of two timid fingers on the edge of a barely shaven jaw.

A hitch in Stiles’ breath. Derek takes his hand away quickly, heart beating in his ears.

What just happened?

Is there wolfsbane growing somewhere? Has he just been werewolf roofied by the forest?

Stiles lets out a particularly loud snore. Derek jumps a little next to him. Yeah, he’ll definitely blame temporary insanity for the way his stomach tightens just now. He’s going crazy. Only possible explanation.


	3. Roasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV, coffee shop AU, pre-slash

“So these are roasted coffee beans from Guatemala, right?” asks the girl in front of him with a giggle. She tugs at a strand of hair, shifts her weight from one foot to another for good measure.

God. Stiles’ head is pounding. The early morning sunlight is Too Much for him right now and he wants All of the Coffee. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass if the beans come from Guatemala or Kenya or Belgium. He wants them. Inside him. Now.

 _That’s what he said_ , his alcohol-addled brain supplies. Ugh. He’s _never_ drinking with Lydia _again_ . Next time she dumps Whittemore, she can call Danny. Stiles is _done_.

In front of him, Flirty McBothersome keeps holding up the line, trying to get the attention of Hot Barista.

Stiles finds it in his hungover self to pity her a little bit. Poor girl. Many have tried. And as much as Stiles knows, getting coffee here every day for the past three years, none have succeeded.

When Hot Barista slides her paper cup across the counter with no more than a grunt, Flirty McBothersome seems to admit defeat.

It’s finally his turn. Thank all the Gods. He steps to the counter with some difficulty, gripping onto it to stay upright. Hot Barista eyes him critically. A barely-there smirk ticks up at his mouth.

“Rough night?” he asks Stiles.

“Yeah”, he croaks out. His vision isn’t right. He squints. Oh yeah. He forgot to open one eye.

Hot Barista’s smirk seems wider with both eyes open. Also, more devastatingly handsome. Fuck Stiles. Please.

“The usual?” he asks when Stiles supplies no more information.

Stiles nods, grateful. Ow. Moving head, bad idea.

Hot Barista honest to God chuckles, grabbing a pen. “The name is Stiles, right?”

Stiles’ eyes fly wide open. Hot Barista knows his _name_. This is probably an alcohol-fueled hallucination. And if it is, Stiles reasons as Hot Barista busies himself making his large Americano, there’s no reason Stiles can’t push his luck a little bit.

“Yeah”, Stiles says. He clears his poor, abused throat. “My name is Stiles. And… yours?”

Hot Barista full-on smiles at him, slides his coffee over the counter. Stiles hearts stops beating as he fetches a five dollar bill from his back pocket. Hot Barista has bunny teeth. Wow.

“Derek”, he tells Stiles. “My name is Derek.”

Stiles remembers to keep breathing.

“Ok, Derek”, he savors the name on his tongue, picks up his cup. “Nice to meet you.”

Stiles’ hangover seems to have evaporated as he steps outside the coffee shop. Hot Barista’s name is Derek. Wow. Maybe someday, Stiles thinks while inhaling the sweet aroma from his paper cup, he’ll grow the balls to ask for Derek’s number.

Maybe someday.


	4. Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV, monster of the week, magic, pre-slash

“Shit shit shit fuck shit”, Scott yells as he runs ahead of Stiles.

Damn werewolf lungs. Stiles runs as fast as he can and he’s so out of breath he could puke. But Scott can yell and run yards ahead and even look behind his shoulder  _ while _ running. Unfair. If Stiles attempted to do that he would probably dislocate his spine or something.

“They’re  _ fast _ ”, Scott adds with a yelp, and runs a little faster.

Stiles has a million biting retorts on the tip of his tongue, but he needs all the air in his lungs to escape the evil squid monsters he summoned out of nowhere.

It was supposed to be a quiet day. Hell, it’s only fucking morning! Scott and he met up in the Preserve early so Stiles could get a little bit of practice on this spell Deaton had asked him to try out, before meeting the Sheriff and Melissa for brunch. A simple shield spell, Deaton had said. Designed to disguise a human’s heartbeat to werewolf ears. All it would take was a little bit of concentration.

Ha! Stiles has been studying magic with Deaton for three years, and it’s like the guy doesn’t know him at all. Concentrate? Stiles could as easily run a marathon. Which he is doing right now anyway. Running a marathon for his life against goddam monsters that came out of nowhere when he snapped his fingers and thought “concentrate concentrate concentrate”. 

Whatever Scott says, magic is evil and Stiles wants nothing to do with it. And Deaton is evil too. The guy likes to torture Stiles for no good reason. He probably knew this would happen. He probably planted a hidden camera on Stiles and is watching it all in his office, cackling and stuffing his face with popcorn. Plain one, not even the good, buttery kind.

He’s so out of breath his lungs have shrunken inside him and he’s going to suffocate on his own spit. But he keeps running because death by evil squids seems worse somehow. 

A deafening howl makes his knees tremble. He stumbles. Ahead of him, Scott loses his balance too, lands into a crouch, eyes glowing yellow. Stiles keeps running, catching up to Scott and hauling him by the arm.

Right behind him, there’s tearing and slashing and clawing sounds, snarls and whatever the sound of evil squids fighting is. Scott keeps glancing behind them but Stiles keeps looking ahead and running. No way is he letting curiosity win and dying anyway. His dad would be right about how he dies and that’s unacceptable.

When the fighting noises die down and silence falls, he finally lets himself slow down. He faceplants directly into the forest ground. 

A hiccuping heartbeat later, Scott is at his side, poking him in the shoulder. 

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.”

Stiles lifts a feeble hand to swat at him. He hasn’t regained the power of speech yet. It will take a few hours at least.

Undeterred, Scott keeps poking him and calling his name. With a groan, Stiles rolls over and props himself up on his elbows. The scene in front of him is as gore as it is ridiculous.

A young dude sporting fangs, giant sideburns and no eyebrows whatsoever, is glowering at them. His leather jacket and claws are covered with bright pink slime. All around him lie pieces of torn, dead giant squids. God, the tentacles are  _ huge _ . 

They could really have died here. Chills run down Stiles’ spine. He suppresses a shudder as surly werewolf dude looks at him disapprovingly. Scott’s eyes are still glowing yellow, but he seems unaware of it. He’s looking at werewolf dude, mouth slightly open, crouching beside Stiles. 

Werewolf dude lets his face melt down to human, revealing splendidly bushy eyebrows and a face carved by the Gods. 

Thor almighty, werewolf dude is  _ hot _ . 

“What are you doing here?” werewolf dude asks them confrontationally. “This is private property.”

Werewolf dude is a  _ douche _ . Who just saved their life. And he’s hot. God. Evil giant squids notwithstanding, Stiles has a feeling his life just got even more complicated.


	5. Chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, new Alpha Derek, pre-slash

This kid is the bane of Derek’s existence. And that’s saying something, given his track record.

“Put it down”, he says, again. Injects a little bit of alpha voice in there, just to make his point clear. That thing is not getting into the Camaro. It is _not_.

“But _Derek_ ”, Stiles protests. There are a least three unnecessary vowels in that “Derek”.

“Look how _cute_.”

Derek feels a wave of pure rage rising in his chest. He breathes it out through his flaring nostrils. These alpha emotions are harder to manage than he thought. He needs to work extra hard on it. Hanging around stupid, reckless teenagers doesn’t really help. Case in point.

“Look, dude, look!”, Stiles yells, trying to get his attention. Derek turns toward him slowly, carefully, expecting the worst. He’s not disappointed.

Stiles is holding the chicken like it’s a baby, a look of pure, undiluted joy on his face. A _chicken_.

Derek knew bringing Stiles along to Deaton’s was a bad idea. He keeps touching stuff he’s not supposed to and picking up animals and trying to adopt hem. But usually, it’s puppies and kittens. Not a _chicken_.

The chicken has stopped clucking like mad in Stiles’ arms. It’s staring fixedly at Derek, not moving a feather, clearly recognizing the predator in the room. Stiles takes it for adoration or something.

“Aw, look! He thinks you’re his papa!”

The prick of claws itches at the tip of Derek’s fingers. He’s gonna kill him. Them. Both of them. The chicken and the spaz.

“Put. Down. The chicken”, he orders, full on alpha bleeding through.

Anyone would cower and comply, faced with glowing red eyes and fangs. But not Stiles.

“Ooooh, big bad wolf ordering everyone around!” He rolls his eyes with his whole upper body, upsetting slightly his hold on the chicken. “I can bring Stuart Chicken home if I want to, man! Learn to control your anger before you start policing other people’s lives!”

Stiles turns his back to Derek, holding the chicken closer to his chest, cooing at it.

 _Stuart Chicken_? “You named it?”

Stiles huffs like Derek’s the one being unreasonable here, doesn’t turn back. “‘Course I did! What would a pet be without a name?”

Derek cannot believe this is a conversation he’s having right now. “It’s not a pet. It’s food.”

Stiles turns back toward him, affronted. “You take that back! Stuart Chicken is a very sensitive, loving- ow!”

Stiles lets go of the chicken suddenly. It hits the ground with a thump and a great flutter of useless wings, and clucks away from them at top speed.

“Derek!” Stiles cries, holding his index finger close to his chest. “It bit me!”

Derek resists the urge to get into Stiles’ personal space and sniff the hurt finger for traces of residual pain or blood. He’s not an animal. Instead, he puts on his sunglasses slowly, starts walking away toward the door.

“That’s what you get for petting a chicken”

“Derek! W-wait!” Stiles pants after him, falling into step with him as they exit the building and walk toward the Camaro. “D’you- do you think I’ll become a were-chicken now?”

God. There’s no one around. Derek could run him over with the car. No one would know it was him.

“Will I get the urge to cluck at the moon?” Stiles continues, undeterred by Derek’s silence.

Derek unlocks the car. “Shut up”, he says. “Get in.”

Stiles gets in. But he doesn’t shut up. “Where are we going?”

Derek gives himself a second to pretend to think that over. Stiles is not good with anticipation.

“To your dad’s. I’m going to tell him you tried to adopt a chicken.”

Stiles flails in indignation as Derek gets out of the parking lot. “You wouldn’t! You know he hates pets, the heathen!”

Derek smiles at him with all his teeth, sunglasses disguising the hint of red in his eyes. “Watch me.”


	6. Drooling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, pack fic, monster of the week, pre-slash

“He’s drooling on my pillow.”

Allison appears at his shoulder, looks down fondly. She pats Derek’s elbow. 

“Suck it up, big guy. Take one for the team.”

She disappears in a twirl of self-satisfaction toward the kitchen, where Lydia’s making popcorn. The door of the loft is pulled open with a grinding sound. Derek doesn’t even have to turn his head to know Erica’s standing there, triumphant, a tower of pizza boxes in one hand.

“Derek!” she hollers. “Pizza!”

He nods, keeps looking down at his bed.

They were supposed to be fighting a vampire tonight. A  _ vampire _ . They had a whole plan. Lydia had stocked up on garlic and holy water, just in case. They had a  _ whole plan _ . And then Stiles had to go and play the hero. 

He’d managed to drive a stake through the thing’ heart before he got himself completely drained of blood. When Scott and Derek caught up with them, the vampire was a stinking pile of dirt and Stiles was swaying on his feet, looking very pale.

Scott swept him in a bridal carry just as he passed out. Scott turned toward Derek, shrugged. “Movie night instead?” he asked.

So yeah. The pack’s gathering at the loft with a mountain of food and binging whatever Lydia want to watch on Netflix. Derek was expecting blood and stinking vampire guts and pain and maybe death. Somehow, teenagers invading his living space and arguing Clueless vs Mean Girls… is worse.

Also, Stiles. Recuperating from his “heroics” by taking a nap on Derek’s well-made bed, permeating his teenage hormones-sweat-and-sugar smell in Derek’s sheets and drooling on Derek’s pillows. The nice ones that Scott and Allison gave him as a very late housewarming gift. 

It makes Derek want to wolf out, a little bit. Stiles squirms in his sleep, his open mouth dragging slowly on blue cotton. Maybe Derek could jump out the window, go for a run in the Preserve. The others wouldn’t notice he’d gone.

A crash and a thump behind him shatter his bout of daydreaming.

“Derek”, Erica yells in a singsong voice. “Isaac dropped ice cream all over your couch!”

A pregnant pause. Then she yelps. 

“Snitches get stitches”, Isaac whispers.

Derek sighs. He turns away from Stiles, still sleeping soundly through the mayhem. Lucky son of a bitch.


	7. Exhausted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, married!Sterek
> 
> everything I know about domesticity I've learned from betp's magnificent fic, do you know. <3

Derek wakes up with a start. The bedroom is bathed in darkness, quiet night carrying on without him. He stretches his arm, feels for the sheets on the right side of the bed. They’re cold and crisp, neatly folded. They haven’t been slept on. Derek sighs, allows his body to sink back into the warm comfort of his pillow. He stares at the dark ceiling, lets his hearing stretch to every confine of the house.

_ Tic tic tic. _

That’s what he thought. 

He props himself up on one elbow, grabs around for his glasses on the nightstand. 

Well-worn slippers wait for him at the foot of bed. They’re not his, don’t fit his slightly shorter feet perfectly. But he likes them anyway. The soft, padded slap of them on the hardwood of the hallway.

Light spills out from under a familiar door. 

He likes to work there. He likes to do everything in there. He’ll take his breakfast up and eat it cross-legged on the bright blue carpet, balancing his plate on his knees. He’ll sit on the window seat for hours, illuminated by the setting sun, eyes golden, just looking at the room or reading a book or picking at his nails.

Derek will find him there, join him. He’ll put an arm around him and they’ll talk about what needs to be done before it arrives. It. He. She. Whatever. The person. The baby.

Stiles will complain that Derek built the crib wrong because he got bored with the instructions halfway through and went with his gut. Derek will question the shade of blue they picked for the walls for the thousandth time. They’ll argue about it. Derek will go downstairs to make dinner, annoyed. Stiles will come down and bother him through it. As apologies go, it’s not the best, but it will do.

It’s straining them both, the expectation, the wait. The stress of “oh my god we’ll be in charge of a full human being soon, what if we fuck it up”. The fear of “what if it doesn’t work out, what if something happens, what if she changes her mind?”

In less than two months, they’re going to be  _ parents _ . Derek used to think he wouldn’t make it to twenty five. And now he’s a home-owner, and he has a legitimate job and old ladies say hi to him at the grocery store. And he’s a husband.

He pushes the door to the baby’s room open. Sure enough, Stiles is sitting on the blue carpet, typing away at his computer, back curved toward his lit up screen. 

Derek crouches next to him. “Stiles”.

He needs to repeat it a few times before his husband’s unfocused eyes look up, find his. He looks thinner. The blue light of the screen carves dark lines below his eyes. He looks exhausted. 

He’s been trying to finish his manuscript before the baby gets there. So he can be more present, help out. He gets hyper focused, works for hours, days on end. It gets increasingly harder for Derek to coax him out of it, get him to eat. Or sleep.

Derek doesn’t break eye contact with Stiles as he slowly shuts his laptop. He puts it down on the blue carpet. Stiles smiles at him, small and unsure.

Derek frowns at him. “You should come to bed, yeah?”

He waits a few seconds for Stiles to nod his assent, then he pecks him on the lips, grabs him around the waist and hauls him up. He bridal carries his husband to their marital bed. 

If Stiles was anything other than barely conscious, he would kill Derek for this. As it is, Stiles head lolling on his shoulder, a sliver of dark brown visible below his eyelids, Derek allows himself a second to enjoy this. This intimate vulnerability. The quiet.

Soon, their lives will be bulldozed over by an infant. And it’s going to be the best adventure. But he’ll miss this, probably. 

Stiles snores right into his ear. He jumps a little, shakes himself off. If Stiles knew Derek lets himself get this sentimental at night, he’d never hear the end of it.


	8. Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV, declarations of luuurve, pre-slash

Name a star after him? he asks himself, wiggling his pen wildly between his fingers. Oh yeah, Derek would loooove that. 

Take him on a carriage ride across the Preserve? Balloon ride? Skydiving? Snorkeling? Flowers? Chocolates? Diamonds?

“Scooooooott!” Stiles yells, leaning back on his chair. 

Scott winces, leans forward into Stiles’ space. “I’m right here buddy. Right next to you. No need to  _ shout _ .”

Oh right. He forgot. Ah well.

“How did you declare your undying love for Allison?” Stiles asks, point blank.

Scott ponders it for a second, math homework forgotten between them. They’re sitting at the kitchen counter in Scott’s house. Melissa left them a bunch of muffins she stole from the hospital cafeteria. They’re not the worst thing Stiles has ever eaten.

“I spent a lot of time wolfed out on the roof of her bedroom”, Scott says. “Then I saved her from a vengeful alpha. Also I said I love you at the dance”. He scratches at his chin, deep in thought. “Also that time we had sex in the car.”

Stiles pats his bestest friend on the back. “Thanks buddy. None of that is helpful.”

Scott makes a thoughtful face at him, eyes faraway. Stiles can’t believe he willingly, knowing the consequences, initiated a conversation about Allison. He’s so stupid.

“The main thing though, I think”, Scott goes on unprompted, “was how I was willing to risk everything to be with her. Her dad putting a bullet in my head and her psycho mom and Derek being all ‘she’s evil, be my beta’...”, he trails off. “It meant nothing to me. I needed to be with her.” 

Stiles grabs a tissue off the table, pretends to wipe at his eyes.

“That is so beautiful, my dude”, he says through a fake-choked voice. “Your love is so pure.”

Scott thumps him on the back a little harder than he needs to. “Thanks bro.”

Stiles slumps on the counter, head in his hands.

“I don’t know what to do?” he admits, muffled through his palms.

Scott bites into a muffin, munches on it for a while. “You could just… tell him how you feel?”

Stiles whips his head up. “Just tell him how I feel?” he bellows, affronted. “Are you insane?” He throws his arms up, but runs out of steam mid way. He lets his arms fall on the table with a slap.  “I can’t”, he finishes, voice trembling.

Scott attacks a second muffin, considers his defeated best friend. “You could drag a deer carcass up to his front porch?” He smiles, all boyish and self-satisfied. “Dead animals probably mean ‘I like you’ in Derek-speak.

“But I don’t like him, Scott”, Stiles protests. “I  _ love _ him.” He sighs, long, until all the air has left his lungs. “He’s- he’s an asshole. He’s incapable of social smoothness, cannot hold a decent conversation, will kill rather than tell anyone how he feels and has no regard for his own life. He’s  _ perfect _ .” Stiles chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Well, perfect for me.”

Scott considers him, frowning. He probably thinks Stiles is having a short bout of insanity, or he’s being possessed. But he won’t say it because he’s trying to be respectful of his best bro. Or maybe he’s just trying to fart discreetly.

“He pushes me and needles me and confronts me and- he fucking completes me”, Stiles goes on, picking up steam. He’s so tired of keeping all this gross, disgusting, overpowering  _ feelings  _ inside. “I want to have his werewolf babies and maybe get werewolf married in the forest or whatever”. He’s almost yelling now. Scott’s wincing next to him, but Stiles can’t stop. It needs to come  _ out _ . “I want him to know he’s the most special person to me. And not deer-carcass special. Everything special. Taking my virginity special.”

Scott full-on fake hurls. Stiles ignores it, thumps on his best pal’s shoulder to get his full attention. He needs to get his point across, that is of the utmost importance.

“Scott”, he says hoarsely. “He’s my Allison”.

They look at each other, wide eyed and stunned by the enormity of that fact. Stiles loves Derek, like, a whole lot. Wow.

“Wow, dude”, is Scott’s illuminated reaction. Stiles knows what he means, anyway.

Scott picks at a third muffins, not eating it. “Maybe you could just, like, say the first part a bit louder?” he suggests, shrugging. “Derek’s right outside the house”, he adds offhand. “I’m pretty sure he heard the last bit.”

All of the blood in Stiles’ body jellyfies instantly. He  _ what _ ?

Scott chuckles. “My bad. He just said he heard the whole thing.”

Well,  _ shit _ .


	9. Precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, no Sterek, Hale memories, angst

There’s this one picture. It’s faded a bit, grainy. Slightly sticky in the corners.

She’s smiling, looking at the person holding the camera. Her belly is round.

They’re in the mountains somewhere. The whole word behind her is an asymmetry of deep blues and greens, bright sun catching in her dark hair.

She’s very young. Maybe 23. Her jeans have big holes in the them at the knee.

Her arms are lifted up, wide, encompassing the universe. She looks radiant.

He used to keep it hidden in a book in his locker at school. That’s why he still has it.

She gave it to him when he was a teenager. They’d just had another row about how she was too controlling, she didn’t give him enough space, she didn’t understand what it was to be young.

He’d just wanted to go to a party at one of his basketball teammate’s house. So what if it was close to the full moon? Everything didn’t have to be about werewolves, and being a Hale. he wanted to be a normal teenagers, and make-out with girls, and forget about full moons. He wanted to be  _ young _ .

She’d left him to sulk and fetched the picture from the study. She’d held it up in his face until he took a look at it, puzzled.

She didn’t remember every detail, like where exactly they were. She remembered, though, that she had never been this happy, and this free, up to that point.

She was pregnant with his sister. This was a few months before she became alpha, burdened both by the grief of losing her mother and taking the lead of a divided pack. And the care of an newborn.

This was the last time, she’d said, she’d felt truly young. And, she’d insisted as she pressed the picture in his hands, she’d never forgotten. 

He hadn’t either.

A few months later, their house, all of their pictures, his family, his soul, it all burned to ashes.

All he has left of her, is this picture. And the eyes that look back at him in the mirror.


	10. Flowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV, married Sterek, reference to a certain popular Netflix TV show :/
> 
> give a stupid prompt get a stupid fic

He slams the door shut, sends his shoes flying into the hallway, breathes deeply, calmly for the first time today. Work was the  _ worst _ . Customers are the  _ worst _ . He wants them to stop coming to his shop. There really is something to be said about ordering stuff online.

God, he’s exhausted. He needs a shower. And a massage.

“Dereeek”, he yells, stepping into the kitchen. No answer. Figures.

He makes his way into the living room. “Duuude”, he calls. He’s probably out in the garden, talking to birds, or trees, or worms. He does that sometimes, the dork. Stiles is so in love with his husband.

Who’s nowhere to be seen in the garden. Or the bathroom.

Stiles takes the stairs to the bedroom. Maybe Derek’s just left to run errands or go meet Isaac. It’s just weird. He’s always there, when Stiles gets back from work. Getting frustrated over making dinner, or napping on the couch, all warm and cuddly. 

But no, he hasn’t left. Derek’s lying on their bed, curled in a loose ball. And he’s crying his eyes out, blubbering nonsensical words. 

Stiles feels the world come to a stop around him. 

“Derek!”, Stiles yells. He jumps on the bed, gets as close as he can to his husband, takes his red, congested face in his hands.

“Honey, what happened?” he asks, tone cajoling.

Fat tears roll down Derek’s cheeks. “Flowing- hair-”, he sobs.

“Derek, babe”, Stiles tries to reason him, “you’re not making sense. Did something happen? Is it Isaac?”

Derek wipes at his face, takes a deep breath, looking into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles has rarely seen Derek like this, so… helpless. Derek is more of a “grind your teeth through emotion” type of guy. Stiles is the one who has fits of tears and needs Derek to hold him through bad days. 

Stiles pets at Derek’s hair, his beard. He tweaks his nose for good measure. He’s kind of at a loss faced with this much anguish.

“I- I just”, Derek tells him hoarsely. “God, this is so stupid, Stiles”. He hiccups. “I got bored and- your computer was right there and- you’ve been nagging me about this show and-”

Understanding slowly comes over Stiles. “Oh”, he says. “Oh,  _ honey _ .”

He hugs his husband tighter. “Queer Eye got to you, uh?” he murmurs into his hair.

He feels Derek nod tightly into his neck, tears soaking his work shirt. Oh well.

“You got to the coming out episode, didn’t you?”

Derek sobs harder, hugs Stiles tighter against him. “ _ No _ ”, he cries. “I just- Antoni’s always happy crying and Bobby works  _ so hard _ , and-” he trails off, seemingly overcome with emotion. “Jonathan’s  _ hair _ , I just-”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek so hard, he tastes a bit of blood. But it’s worth it. He can’t laugh at Derek for being overcome with love for the Fab Five. After all, everyone went through that same phase. Stiles’ was barely three months ago, and Derek listened to him blubbering about the show for days on end, without much complaining.

“I know, babe”, he says, kissing Derek’s temple. “I know… Wanna watch another?”

Derek sniffs. “ _ Yes _ .”


	11. Whale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV, married!Sterek, monster of the week

“Well, this is a whale of a fish to fry.”

“Stiles”, Derek threatens through clenched teeth.

Stiles turns towards him, amused smirk on his lips, hands on his hips. He’s _enjoying_ this. Of _course_.

Derek glowers at him, massaging his temples.

“Oh, come on dude!” Stiles exclaims. “This is funny!”

He points behind himself, like Derek needs help identifying the object of Stiles’ hilarity. Like it’s not blocking his view of the fucking horizon right now. His life is the worst.

Derek sighs. He’s tired. He needs a break. He was _supposed_ to get a break. This is his hard-earned time off and he is not equipped to deal with this.

Stiles takes pity on him. He walks over to him, sits down, and throws his arms around Derek.

“C’mon babe”, he says consolingly. “This is so us. Of course something ridiculous was going to happen.” He hugs tighter for a second. “It’s fine.”

Derek mellows out a little bit in his husband’s arms. He growls out a ‘fine’, shoulders drooping.

Stiles smiles at him, smitten. Derek wants to carry him to the cabin of the boat and ravish him. He should be able to do it, goddammit, they’re on their honeymoon. This is their time. For _love making_.

But of course it didn’t go that way. Because the second they left the shore behind, they got attacked by an _evil whale_. And when Derek expressed his utter bewilderment at something so crazy happening, Stiles had just shrugged. And said “oh, I’ve read about something like this happening to a pack before”. Like it just _happens_. Shifters out at sea getting _attacked_ by _sea monsters_.

Derek has so many questions. First of all, why would a pack be on a ship? Were there werewolf pirates? It seems counter-intuitive to him.

Second of all, and most importantly, why did Stiles not mention it before? Since the whole point of spending their honeymoon on a boat was to escape monsters and shifters and everything altogether that would cut into Derek-tearing-Stiles’-clothes-off time.

“What do we do”, Derek grunts. Asks. Whatever.

Stiles strokes his imaginary beard, as he always does when he’s thinking magic. “A simple incantation to banish the evil spirit inhabiting that poor creature should do.”

Derek breathes.

“But I’m not sure it will work for something so _big_.”

Derek stops breathing.

Stiles turns to him, winks. “That’s what he said.”

Derek puts his head in his hands. They are _doomed_.


	12. Guarded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV, boyfriends!Sterek

“Why can’t we ever do anything fun?”, he yells at Derek through the howling wind.

“Stiles”, Derek says like someone else would say “torture”.

“It’s a cliff. You-“, Derek points at him, like Stiles is a two year old and hasn’t fully grasped the full nuance of the word “you”, “-are human. Squishy, breakable. Stupid.” Derek seems satisfied with his endearing description of Stiles, but adds, out of love for precision probably, “and clumsy.”

Oh-em-gee. Stiles’ heart is all aflutter.

“This-“, Derek keeps going, pointing at the void on their left, “is a cliff. With rock formations at the bottom. To make sure you really die if you fall.”

Stiles crosses his arms. “I don’t know why people would think you’re a surly and guarded boyfriend”, he retorts. “You’re clearly a poet.”

“Stiles”, Derek says through a hint of fangs.

Stiles turns away from him and pouts.

Silence falls. Stiles pretends he’s not completely frozen by the whipping winds and tries to remember why he thought cliff jumping would be a fun couple activity.

Derek sighs so loud Stiles can hear it through two layers of hoodie. “Is this a Notebook situation?”, he asks.

Stiles whips around, ready to crow at Derek for giving in so fast, but his legs get tangled somehow. He stumbles. There’s void below his feet and Derek’s looking at him, eyes wide. Time slows as his arms windmill behind him. He’s fucking falling. From the cliff. He’s a moron.

Derek hand shoots out, grabs his hoodie, yanks him back to earth. Stiles collapses into Derek’s arms, heart beating double time. He almost fucking died. Again. For a really stupid reason. Again.

He breathes for a while, hugs Derek’s shoulders.

Derek rubs his back slowly. “You wanna go back home”, he says huskily, “fall asleep in front of Netflix?”

Stiles sniffs. “Sooo”, he says in a small voice, “that’s a no on cliff jumping?”


End file.
